Monday, April 21, 2008

The New York Post is Fattening

I've decided that part of my problem, circumferentially speaking, is that I've become addicted to the Times crossword puzzle, as published daily (although two weeks late) in the New York Post. I've been commuting as far as possible sitting down, so that I can solve it—er, try to solve it. This is no way to teach the embonpoint how to take a joke. And if marriage to the Immortal Beloved is doable—and at moment of going to press, a remote chance of it does exist—Something Must Be Done.

So this morning, I sidestepped the butterball Latina who squats outside my station hawking rags, disembarked at Ninth Street, and began the trek. Along the way, I eked out the last 25% of the chorus to Surrey with the Fringe on Top:

Ike once drank on th' Eve of Invasion;
Sometimes, hooch can soothe an abrasion;
It's no crime to tope on occasion,
While the boys talk shop:
But you prolly better worry if you binge till you drop.

Lyric © 2008 Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov

A tip o' the hat to Walt Kelly for that prolly.

Th' Eve is dodgy, I know. The three examples of acceptable uses for booze are disjointed. But it's better than what I had before, which was bugger all.

Despite what you may think, the last line didn't come first; Bombed and blitzed and pissed and polluted did, courtesy of the Coffee Lady. It's just good luck that prolly better worry if you binge replicates the sound of the original line while actually making some sense.


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